Widowmaker Jones (23 page)

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ewt didn't have time to signal the judge that they were coming. There was a clatter of shod hooves on the rocks of the creek bed, and then two riders appeared not thirty yards away, walking their horses. Neither of them was Cortina, and neither of them rode a white horse—both were sitting on plain sorrels.

Both outlaws had guns at the ready and were keeping a sharp lookout for trouble, but most of their attention was on the north bank in the direction of the mountain where Kizzy had fired from. Newt recognized neither man, and debated on letting them pass and saving his attention for Cortina. Shooting at them or alerting them in any way to his presence would warn Cortina and likely cause the wily bandit leader to detour around the ambush. Newt could hear other horses entering the wash near the fort.

Something white flashed in the corner of Newt's eye and he dared a glance to the far side of the creek. The white thing was darting in and out of the grass and low brush, and it took a bit for it to register with him that what he was seeing was Kizzy's dog coming at a run. The dog leapt off the far bank with its tongue flopping out of one side of its mouth and appearing as happy as if he were chasing a rabbit.

The outlaw nearest the dog was as startled as Newt was by the dog's appearance, especially because it came flying from directly above him like a mountain lion leaping from a high ledge. Both of the bandits' horses shied wildly, scrambling and staggering over the rocks, and the one farthest from the dog bolted down the creek.

The bandit nearest to the dog managed a shot at it while he fought to get his horse under control. The shot was a clean miss, and instead of fleeing with the same speed with which it had arrived, the crazy dog began to circle the bandit's horse, barking loudly. The other bandit with the runaway horse was almost directly between the judge and Newt and at a dead run by then.

It was happening so fast that Newt had no time to think. While the remaining bandit was aiming for another shot at the dog, the judge rose up on the far bank and let go with both barrels of his shotgun—first one barrel for the bandit tormented by the dog, and then swinging the stubby coach gun as smoothly as a duck hunter risen from a blind and tracking his prey in flight. He fired the second at the back of the bandit on the runaway horse. It was point-blank range and the rider near the dog threw up his arms and fell off the back of his horse, dead before he hit the ground. The judge must have winged the other rider, for he reeled in the saddle but managed to stay there, charging away from the ambush site clutching his side.

The judge was cursing at the top of his lungs, lost in the heat of the fight, or perhaps because he was having trouble reloading his shotgun. He was a prime target when a third bandit came down the creek at a dead run with his pistol cracking. The white horse he rode had its ears pinned and its belly low to the ground like a racehorse on the homestretch, and water and sparks from its hooves on the stones flew up beneath it. The judge dropped quickly, and Newt couldn't tell if he was hit or if he had merely dived to the ground to take cover.

Newt took a steady hold on his Smith in both hands and touched it off. The Mexican badman was turned in the saddle, laying fire at the judge's position, and Newt's bullet took him under the left shoulder blade. The bandit tried to keep in his saddle by hauling on his reins, grasping and clawing at anything to stay mounted, but all that did was to jerk his horse's head around to one side and throw it end over end.

Like the judge, the heat of battle had gotten to Newt, and he stood for a better shot at the bandit in case he should rise from his fallen horse. The instant Newt stood and skylined himself, two more riders burst into view, both of them astride white horses. Newt recognized the spotted vest the bandit was wearing before he recognized Cortina's face.

Don Alvarez's daughter rode sidesaddle beside Cortina, and her red dress atop that white horse was so out of place amid the moment that it all seemed like a dream. She lashed her horse's hip with a braided riding quirt, matching Cortina's horse stride for stride.

Newt was quick to swing his gun, but maybe it was a fear of hitting the girl that made him hesitate his aim for a fraction of a second. That tiny moment of deliberation was enough for Cortina to see him and to get his own gun into action.

Before Newt could pull his own trigger again, Cortina shot a chunk out of Newt's pistol holder, and his second shot burned Newt's left ear. The next thing Newt knew he was falling off the edge of the creek bank, tumbling and rolling wildly until he hit the bottom. He rose only in time to see Cortina and the Alvarez girl fleeing down the creek with Cortina hanging off one side of his horse like an Indian and snapping shots in the judge's direction. The judge's shotgun went off again, but the range was too great for the cut-down weapon. Cortina and the girl were soon out of range of any kind of marksmen, disappearing with Kizzy's barking dog giving chase at their heels.

Newt found his pistol and staggered to the middle of the creek where the bandit he had shot lay under his fallen horse in the ankle-deep water. When Newt got closer he saw that the bandit appeared dead, but his death grip on one of his reins had the horse's head and neck bent around and kept it from rising.

The judge slid down the other bank and broke the shotgun open and shoved two more brass ten-gauge shells down the pipes while he walked over to Newt. Newt reached down and yanked the left rein out of the dead man's grip. He toed the horse gently in the shoulder, and the animal rose, shaking itself. Regardless of the crash, it seemed no worse for the wear.

“Did you hear old Gabriel blow his trumpet?” The judge patted his shotgun affectionately. “It ain't only walls that this here scattergun will bring tumbling down. It ain't too bad for tumbling Mexican miscreants, either.”

“Cortina and the girl got away, and so did another one,” Newt said.

“I peppered that first one pretty good. He ought to be leaking like a sieve,” the judge said. “I doubt he'll make it too far.”

“Cortina was who we wanted.”

“And Cortina is who we'll get in time. If we had let those first two pass we would have had them at our backs when we tried to take Cortina.”

Newt studied the fort and the gap in the wall where the bandits had poured forth from. “You think there's any more of them in there?”

“We won't know for sure until we wade in there and have a look around.”

Newt led the dead bandit's white horse up the creek toward the break in the wall, half expecting someone to pop up out of the ruins and take a shot at him. The judge followed several steps back, whistling, and with the shotgun thrown over one shoulder, like he was returning home from an evening squirrel hunt.

Among the piles of stone and weathered timbers they found where the bandits had taken shelter in two jacales lining a solid section of the fort's walls. They searched each one of the mud-and-stick huts, but found nothing. Nor were there any bodies to be found in the rest of the ruins.

Newt located the stairs that led up to the bastion and made his way to the top. He scanned the valley to the west for signs of Cortina, but Kizzy, leading their horses, rode into the fort before he could spot his quarry.

The Gypsy girl leapt from her horse and ran to the white gelding Newt had left tied to a charred roof beam sticking out of a pile of adobe bricks and stone. She hugged the horse around the neck like it was a long-lost friend, and pressed one teary cheek into its hide.

When she looked up at Newt there was a smile on her face. “It's Herod.”

He nodded.

“Herod is my brother's favorite,” she said.

“I'm glad we got him back,” Newt said. “But Cortina got away.”

She led the horse in a circle, examining it to see if it was sound. The horse didn't limp or seem injured, but it was noticeably thin and matted with dried sweat. Its belly on both sides was stained with dried blood where the bandit who had ridden him had worked it over cruelly with his spurs.

“Poor Herod,” Kizzy said, examining the spur marks tenderly with the tips of her fingers.

“That polecat won't be spurring any more of your horses,” the judge said. “Widowmaker up there put out his lights.”

She considered what the judge had said and looked up at Newt again with a measuring glance. “That's twice I've heard him call you that.”

He turned away from her and looked back to the valley. He soon spotted what he was looking for. Cortina and the girl had caught up to the wounded bandit the judge had maimed with his shotgun, and the three of them were raising a dust cloud so far off they were barely in sight.

Newt turned to the east, and after a moment's glance he said, “Judge, you and Miss Grey had better get mounted. We've got other company.”

Instead of mounting, the judge clambered up the steps to join Newt atop the tower. His twinkling old eyes searched the narrow pass above the fort.

“How many of them do you make out?” Newt asked.

“Maybe ten of them.”

“Are you thinking that's who I'm thinking it is?”

“That'll be Don Alvarez and those gun-toting cow tenders of his.”

“That's what I was afraid of.” Newt measured the distance to the notch in the mountains and guessed it at no more than two miles.

“They must have been hanging back behind us the whole time, and then heard the shooting and thought we had Cortina cornered.” The judge spat off the tower and watched his spittle hit the ground below.

“What do we do?”

“I imagine they heard the shots and came at a pretty good clip to see if they could get in on the action,” the judge said. “They're going to have some awful tired horses.”

“We run like hell?” Newt couldn't help but grin.

“You got it.”

The judge hobbled down the steps as fast as he could with Newt on his heels. Newt jerked the cinch tight on the Circle Dot horse and then swung up on his saddle without touching a stirrup. Kizzy was getting on the black draft horse, intending to lead her white horse on the end of a rope.

“Swap to that white horse,” Newt said.

“Herod is in no shape to ride,” she answered.

“That wagon horse of yours can't run fast enough to matter, and it looks like we're about to have to do some running.”

She looked a question at him. “Why are we running?”

“Don Alvarez is coming.”

“That's good news, isn't it?”

“I think he's got it in his mind that I had something to do with the death of his son.”

“Did you?”

“This is the first time I've ever stepped foot in Mexico, but that doesn't matter to him. He wants to feel like he's avenged his son after all these years, and that horse I'm riding is the first lead he's had.”

“But he has a deal with you,” she said. “I spoke with him and he seemed a gentleman.”

“A gentleman, sure, but he's a man that doesn't forget a thing. He's got too much pride, like his kind usually do.”

“He'll see what you did to Cortina's gang, and that you are keeping your deal.”

“There not much left of that gang but Cortina, and Alvarez won't need my services anymore. He's got more than enough men to run down Cortina.”

“Then why did he make the deal with you in the first place?”

“One more party out after Cortina was going to increase his chances of catching him, or maybe he saw me and the judge as cannon fodder. I don't know.”

“I still don't think he'll break his word.”

“You stay here and keep thinking that. I'm going to ride.”

Newt and the judge rode out of the fort at a trot. They didn't stop until they reached the two dead bandits. Newt was the first to dismount, and he knelt over the one the judge had shot and quickly searched his vest pockets.

The judge laughed. “You're learning. Might be something there we can make a few dollars off of.”

Newt ignored the judge and ran over to the other dead bandit when he was finished with the first one.

“Aren't you going to at least take their guns? That's a good Winchester rifle laying beside that 'un.”

As bad as Newt hated to admit it, the judge had a point. Kizzy had likely spent most of his ammunition for the buffalo rifle, and he was going to need another long gun. When he finished a fruitless search of the second bandit's pockets he took up the Winchester. It was a relatively new '76 express model in .45-75 caliber with a fancy case-hardened receiver, a half magazine, half-round and half-octagon barrel, and multi-leaf rear sights. The rifle looked like it should have belonged to some rich prince or big game hunter instead of a poor Mexican bandit. There was no telling who it was stolen from.

Newt unbuckled the cartridge bandolero that was slung across the dead bandit's chest and secured it in the same manner on his own person. He could feel the don's posse breathing down his neck, but he took one last precious moment to snatch the woven, striped serape poncho from the dead man. He hurriedly tied it behind his saddle cantle with his bedroll and swung back on his horse.

“Didn't find a lick of your gold, did you?” the judge asked. “I told you they were likely to have spent it already.”

Newt didn't answer him. Kizzy rode up as he was mounting, and from the way she looked at him and the tight set to her mouth, he could tell she disapproved of his looting of the dead. He had no time to explain himself and spun his horse around and charged down the creek at a high lope with the judge and the Gypsy girl following close behind.